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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792347">I Was a Child</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora'>MistressPandora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Macabre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:36:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people you grieve forever. And sometimes, it's because they refuse to leave. A ghost story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lord John Grey &amp; Jamie Fraser, Lord John Grey/Hector</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Lord John Trick-or-Twink Spooktacular 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Was a Child</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Loosely inspired by the poem "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe, the text of which appears throughout.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>It was many and many a year ago,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In a kingdom by the sea,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That a maiden there lived whom you may know</em>
</p><p>
  <em>By the name of Annabel Lee;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And this maiden she lived with no other thought</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Than to love and be loved by me.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>It was about two months after Culloden when young Lord John first noticed it. He had a habit of twisting the sapphire ring on his left hand, whenever he was nervous or melancholy. The ring was too big for his middle finger but too small for his thumb, and spinning it helped to reassure him that it was still there. That's when he felt it. Or rather, <em>him</em>. </p><p>The ring had been a token from Hector, hastily slipped onto his finger the last time they'd snuck away from camp to make love. That had been a week before Culloden, before all John could hear was the screams of men and all he could smell was blood steaming on the moor. And after, burning Jacobite bodies. It had been weeks before he could smell anything else. </p><p>It was probably the foolish fantasies of a grieving young man, he figured. It was his seventeenth birthday and it had passed with no more notice than his brother Hal clapping him on the shoulder and saying, "Happy birthday, Johnny."</p><p>John laid in his tent that night, listening to the sounds of the camp falling asleep, twirling Hector's ring on his finger. "I miss you," he whispered into the dark.</p><p>
  <em>How can you miss what isn't gone?</em>
</p><p>And then he felt a weight settle around him, the sensation of an arm around his middle, a presence at his back, and a chill down his spine. John couldn’t shake the notion that Hector had held him like that. As if he need only turn over and there would be Hector’s deep blue eyes, boring into him, thin lips quirked into an adoring grin. What John wouldn’t give to feel those lips on his skin again, just once more.</p><p>A cold spot touched John’s neck. Once, twice, headed for his shoulder. That weight around his middle grew tighter, colder. John gasped, the otherworldly sensation making his prick grow hard. “My God, I wish I wasn’t imagining this,” he hissed.</p><p>
  <em>You’re not dreaming, my love.</em>
</p><p>The cold touch slid down his stomach, stealing his breath. Just the way Hector had touched him the first time. “I need you, Hector. I can’t go on without you.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m still here, my love. </em>
</p><p>All the heat seemed to be sucked from the air in Grey’s tent, leaving him cold all over and shivering, except for a warm grip on his prick. John gasped as the sensation settled into place, working its way up and down his length. His heart ached, felt as though it would split in two right there in the hollow of his chest even as the pleasure rushed over and through him. “I love you, Hector.” John’s voice was so low it didn’t even qualify as speech.</p><p>
  <em>And I love you, my sweet John.</em>
</p><p>John spilled into his bedroll, shivering in the frigid tent. The cool weight settled around him again and John lay there, gasping in the dark.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll never leave you.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>I<em> was a child and </em>she<em> was a child,</em></p><p>
  <em>In this kingdom by the sea:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But we loved with a love that was more than love—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I and my Annabel Lee;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Coveted her and me.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Eventually, Hal sent John back to London, unable to stand his moping and melancholy any longer. Hector came to him at night sometimes, on the full or dark of the moon, when the dreadful sadness overtook him and John wept into his pillow for his lover. Hector’s shade came to him, wrapped him in that strange embrace. Touched him, loved him. Made him moan in the dark. Other nights, John found he could conjure the feel of Hector by touching his ring. Speaking to him, whispering his secrets into the dark, gave John an overwhelming sense of communion with him. </p><p>It went on for years. John tried to return to his life, tried desperately to cling to the company of the living. But at night, safely alone and ensconced in his rooms, John would twist Hector’s ring and whisper into the dark, “I miss you.”</p><p>And the weight would settle over his middle, would cradle him. Hector’s voice would answer him, <em>I’ll never leave you, my love.</em> And if the phase of the moon was right, John would feel the weird cold spots trailing down his neck to his shoulders, the chilly arm around him turning warm even while the rest of the room froze. Would grip him and bring him to that place of peaceful release.</p><p>But then John met George Everett. And he couldn’t bear to wear Hector’s ring into the molly houses. Couldn’t stand to imagine what he would have thought of John, bedding men indiscriminately. He still grieved Hector, still cried for him when the loneliness was too great. But he couldn’t stand for Hector to see him drowning his sorrow in sex and spirits and dangerous decisions. So he left his ring at home, tucked away in a velvet-lined box. </p><p>For months, Grey lost himself in the whirlwind of George’s exploits. When he came home in the wee hours, drunk and oversexed, John slipped the ring back on, snug now on his index finger. “Hector… please don’t think less of me.”</p><p>
  <em>Never, my love. I love you still. Be careful, my John. You are still precious to me.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>And this was the reason that, long ago,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In this kingdom by the sea,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My beautiful Annabel Lee;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So that her high-born kinsman came</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And bore her away from me,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>To shut her up in a sepulchre</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In this kingdom by the sea.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>John had never seen his brother so furious as the day Hal issued his orders to Ardsmuir prison. His indiscretions with Everett had led him there, had brought about his own impending ruin. The governorship at the prison promised a cleansing. Free of the alcohol and the careless sex that had led to his downfall.</p><p>But there was still Hector. </p><p>Even as John took weekly meals with Jamie Fraser, he twisted Hector’s ring on his finger, now perfectly suited for his left fourth finger. </p><p><em>He’s a good man</em>. <em>But he will break your heart. Don’t forget about me, my love.</em></p><p>When the moon was dark, Grey lay awake in his quarters, Hector’s presence all around him. The air went cold despite the peat fire, and the warm pleasure enveloped John’s prick, urging him to completion. It had gone on for years. A decade, almost, since that first night. Even as Grey found himself falling in love with Fraser, Hector came to him in the night, offering comfort and pleasure. But as the months at Ardsmuir stretched on, the loneliness grew more acute, the bone-deep ache to touch another intimately was too much to withstand, and Hector's spectral visits became maddening.</p><p>"Can you not take form?" Grey whispered into his dark quarters, the cold dancing over his bare flesh like icy kisses only increasing his desire rather than quenching it. "I can't bear it. Just one night, please. Is it possible?"</p><p>There was a long pause, then a fresh barrage of frigidity over Grey's torso that left him gasping and hard. </p><p>
  <em>I'm afraid not, my love. How I wish I could ease this pain for you.</em>
</p><p>Hector's icy touch went on, and Grey could easily imagine his lover on top of him, lavishing his body with kisses and caresses. It was as he'd done in life, in those stolen moments under the stars, showing him all the wonderful ways a man could be made to feel ecstasy. Hector’s ghostly attentions still brought him physical pleasure, still drew him to the point of release and, with a final clench, pulled him over the edge until he spilled his seed. "Hector!" Grey's voice was a strangled, tragic whisper. He hated himself for the desperation in it.</p><p>
  <em>I have you. I love you. You're mine. Forever. We promised, do you remember? </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>The angels, not half so happy in heaven,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Went envying her and me—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In this kingdom by the sea)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That the wind came out of the cloud by night,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Hector's visits became increasingly strange after that. He lingered farther into the wee hours, the cold caresses became more intense. By the glowing smolder of his peat fire, Grey could watch red welts appear on his skin from them. Hector came to him more frequently than the dark and bright of the moon, though those remained the nights that his presence was strongest. There came times that Grey tried to ignore Hector's insistent touch, even managed to drift to sleep on occasion. But then Hector would shock him awake with frozen tendrils against his thighs or his balls and demand Grey’s attention. </p><p>After more than a week of long, restless nights, John thought he might weep just from the desperate need for sleep. “Please, Hector, my love. Please let me rest.”</p><p>
  <em>Do you wish for me to leave you, John?</em>
</p><p>“Never, it’s only… I may drop dead in the yard tomorrow if I don’t sleep. Please.” </p><p>
  <em>You are making me stronger. Can you not feel it? Soon I may even be able to take a more solid form for a time. Do you not wish to touch me as well?</em>
</p><p>Grey swallowed hard, his eyes falling closed as Hector’s incorporeal, icy hand slid down his back. Gooseflesh erupted over his entire body, his teeth chattering together. There was just enough glow from the fire to see his breath, smoky white before his face. He touched Hector’s ring with his right hand, twisted it, considered removing it. But a tremendous fear gripped him and he paused. What if it angered Hector and he left forever? Perhaps more frightening, what if he never left again? </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>But our love it was stronger by far than the love</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of those who were older than we—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of many far wiser than we—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And neither the angels in heaven above,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nor the demons down under the sea,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Can ever dissever my soul from the soul</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>For weeks it continued thus. Hector came to Grey as soon as he was locked in his quarters for the night, stealing the warmth from the room. He began to feel Hector’s fingers through his hair, could watch the strands flutter and shift on his shoulders. One night Hector’s shade tugged loose the ribbon without Grey’s help, let the black thong fall to the floor at his feet. The next night he managed to untie his hair and his stock. </p><p>The third night Grey took his weekly supper with Jamie Fraser. He’d commented on Grey’s haggard appearance, brow furrowed in concern. “Are ye unwell, Major? Ye look as if ye’re about to drop where ye stand.”</p><p>Grey had to replay Fraser’s words in his mind several times before he could fathom their meaning. “Y-yes,” he said hastily. “I’m quite alright. I just… haven’t been sleeping well. My apologies. Please, make yourself comfortable.”</p><p>Fraser stared at him with that deep expression of worry, hovering near the door. “I willna take offense if ye’d prefer to retire early.”</p><p>If only that would help, he thought. Grey shook his head and again offered Fraser a seat. The Scot eventually eased himself into the chair, his intense gaze steady on Grey, who collapsed without dignity opposite him at the small dining table. “Perhaps we should forgo our usual game of chess, however. To spare my pride.”</p><p>Fraser arched one ruddy brow in a look suggesting that Grey’s pride was the last thing he was worried about, but it wouldn’t have been proper to argue further. </p><p>They conducted their usual business without Grey much retaining anything that was discussed. He took only a handful of clumsy bites of his supper. No sooner had the remnants of their meal been cleared away than a chill overtook Grey. It began as a full-body shiver that he did his level best to suppress and probably didn’t manage it. The cold grew more intense, more localized, until it was but an icy hand on his thigh. It was so cold that it ached and John hissed with the shock of it. Hector had never dared come to him in the presence of another before, and his boldness filled Grey with an intense fear. He suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of Fraser leaving, of being alone with the spirit of his dead lover.</p><p>Leaning forward to squint at Grey, Fraser frowned at him again. “Shall I call for someone for ye, Major? Ye’re clearly unwell. Please, let me help ye to yer room, and I’ll leave ye to yer rest.”

“No!” Grey gasped, his hand shooting out and clasping Fraser’s wrist. He hadn’t meant to touch the man, but the feel of his skin<em>—</em>warm, living flesh<em>—</em>was a comfort and briefly soothed the panic rising in Grey’s chest. Hector’s cold hand retreated from his leg.</p><p>Grey had grown so accustomed to the feeling of a room suddenly plunged into frigidity that it wasn’t until he took note of Fraser’s visible breath that he realized it had happened. </p><p>“No,” Grey whispered. “I beg of you, not now.”</p><p>Fraser’s eyes went wide and he sat back in his chair, unbound hands loose in front of him. "What is it, Major?" He squinted at the cloud of his breath, then scanned the room, starting with the fire which still burned in the hearth. </p><p>Icy hands walked up and down Grey's spine, then back up again, to his neck, around his throat. They lingered there, so cold he choked. "Hector, please," he croaked.</p><p>"Major," Fraser said. "Who the devil is Hector?"</p><p>The candelabra flew from the table between them, clattering against the wall. The force of its motion blew out the tiny flames and made a terrible racket as the brass crashed into the stone wall. Fraser swore and shot to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor.</p><p>
  <em>How could you, John? </em>
</p><p>"How could I… what?" John gasped, the frozen, incorporeal hands tightening on his throat for a moment, then releasing him. Grey slumped forward, drained, shivering. "Please, Hector<em>—</em>"</p><p>
  <em>Enough! You begged for this, don't you remember? You've yearned for me to grow stronger for years, my love. Even when you fucked dozens of men whose names you didn't even know. But I suffered it in silence because you did it out of grief. At least then you didn't make me watch. </em>
</p><p>'Major!" Fraser barked. If he said anything else, Grey couldn't hear him.</p><p>"Hector, I'm sorry," Grey said, pleading. He rose, knees watery and trembling<em>—</em>from cold, fear, exhaustion. His heart thundered in his ears, the rhythm as unsteady as his legs.</p><p>“<em>Major!</em>” Fraser’s voice was far away, well above the ocean of blood rushing through Grey’s ears. He’d drown in it, surely he’d drown. The stone wall behind him may have been a glacier.</p><p>
  <em>But this, John… I cannot abide watching you fall in love. Not with this traitor!</em>
</p><p>Jamie’s eyes were alert, darting from corner to corner of the room. His lips were blue, his skin gray and pale. He took two steps in John’s direction. With a ghastly flare from the hearth, the translucent spectre of Hector appeared between Grey and Fraser.</p><p>Fraser crossed himself, uttered some automatic prayer in Latin and took a step back, eyes fixed on the phantasm before him. “Christ preserve us.”</p><p>“Please, Hector,” John sobbed. Terror clenched his heart. He was cold straight to his bones now, quaking with it. </p><p>Hector turned on Grey and stared at him. He appeared as he had on Culloden Moor. His body mangled, broken. His red coat, which had been so becoming on him in life, had driven Grey mad with desire the first moment he’d laid eyes on him, was pitch with blood. His blood. Jacobite blood. Mostly his blood. He stalked toward Grey. John tried to back up but the wall was already to his back. He was trapped. </p><p>Grey’s heart started back up again, tumbling and stumbling in his breast. “W-what do you mean to do?” He should have loathed the pathetic horror in his voice, the childish fear. It shouldn’t be real, but it was. It had all been real. Fraser had seen him too. </p><p>In a flash, Hector’s shade was inches from Grey’s face. He couldn’t take a full breath. He was getting dizzy from panting. </p><p>
  <em>Come away with me, John, my love.</em>
</p><p>Grey shook his head. He licked his lips but the cold air was painful, his flesh chapped and dry. “I can’t. My duty is here.”</p><p>Hector smirked. Could Fraser hear him? Grey could hear Hector’s voice clearly though his ghost’s mouth didn’t move. It didn’t sound like him though. Hector had been kind and his voice was sweet and lively. Even in the first years after his death, his secret voice whispered directly into Grey’s head had sounded like him. This <em>Hector</em> was a madman, thoroughly unhinged. Had been growing so for weeks. Months. Perhaps years.</p><p>
  <em>Your duty will not follow us. You promised. When I gave you my ring. We promised forever.</em>
</p><p>“I was a child, Hector,” Grey gasped, his breathy cloud like smoke between them. “So were you.”</p><p>One horrific hand<em>—</em>pallid, bruised, bloody<em>—</em>touched John’s cheek. It was almost corporeal. There was no warmth, no life. A waxen corpse caressing his face. Grey swallowed hard and closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight any longer. The sight that had been with him since the day he’d lost Hector, that had followed him into his nightmares for years.</p><p>“<em>Major!</em>” Fraser sounded like he was underwater. Or Grey was. It didn’t matter.</p><p>Grey couldn’t open his eyes again. Wasn’t sure if he still stood or if he’d collapsed. But the stone wall was still at his back, icy tendrils penetrating his uniform. </p><p>Something shocking and warm closed on Grey’s left hand. He might have snatched it back. A twist of Hector’s ring. Then a yank. A horrendous, otherworldly shriek of furious outrage. A terrible naked, exposed feeling on his hand.</p><p>And then blackness.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the sepulchre there by the sea,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In her tomb by the sounding sea.</em>
</p>
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